


Ashes

by Halja



Category: Nibelungenlied
Genre: Coercion, Denial of Feelings, F/F, F/M, Forced Marriage, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Love, Weddings, though the one being forced and coerced doesn't know yet technically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-10-18 00:15:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10605300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Halja/pseuds/Halja
Summary: Brunhild watches her.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Ashes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5447018) by [Halja](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Halja/pseuds/Halja). 



> Translating a very, very old work of mine. And trying to make it a least a little less awkward, hopefully, but I make no promises. At all.
> 
> This story completely disregards the Volsunga Saga, any Siegfried-related Eddic poems, and generally Norse myths as a whole. Oh, and Wagner's Ring Cycle, too. Which basically means, I just felt like doing away with all possible Siegfried/Brunhild-as-past-lovers subtext and all Brunhild > Siegfried > Kriemhild love triangles and focus on the femslash.

 

 

 

 _The king_   _had seated_   _him with Brunhild, the maid, when_   _she espied Kriemhild_   _(naught had_   _ever irked her so)_   _sitting at Siegfried's side._   _She began to weep and hot tears_   _coursed down fair cheeks._  
[…]  
_"I have good cause to weep," spake the comely maid;_   _"my heart is sore_   _because of thy sister, whom I see sitting so near thy vassal's side. I must ever weep that she be so demeaned."_

Brunhild watches her.

She spends the whole feast just watching her, her eyes following her every calm, elegant move, while the man who has conquered by force and by the power of his weapons celebrates by her side and yet a thousand miles away from her.

She doesn’t look away to neither eat nor drink. She just gazes at her small white hands, graciously folded in her lap, yet sometimes raised to bring a bite of the fine foods of the Burgundians or an exquisitely wrought cup of wine to her mouth. She watches her hair pulled up in a flawless coiffure, her eyes as blue as a summer morning and as bright as gemstones, and her face as white as glowing fresh snow, reddened on the cheeks by something that looks too much like happiness.

And then, those lips, small and red as raspberries, that welcomed her on her arrival in Burgundy with words so kind and gentle, with sweet kisses pressed to her mouth.

Now, though, those beautiful lips have been desecrated by Siegfried, brushed by the knight’s own in a move Kriemhild herself did not flinch from. Now, it is he who stands beside her, that mediocre vassal who has no - who _should_ have no right to sit so close to her.

But this doesn’t even seem to displease Kriemhild: there is no shame in her expression, no pained grimace distorting her delicate features, and no tears sparkle in those incredible blue eyes. There’s only joy, enveloping the young bride’s slender form like a warm, golden blanket, and Brunhild would just like to understand _why._

She’d like to understand why Gunther, so brave and yet so foolish, forced his sister to become the wife of a simple vassal, a mere servant of the king who will take her to a land far away, too far from her family and her ladies and from Brunhild herself, where her beauty and her youth will slowly wither like the most hapless of flowers. She’d like to understand why these thoughts are enough to bring her to tears – she, who never cried because of any injury, who marched to battle at the head of her army, who defeated so many men ready to do anything to win her hand in marriage, so many she wouldn’t even be able to count them.

Gunther tries to explain his reasons, but his words are vague, his speech so hasty and careless: he tries to reassure her, but he doesn’t understand her inner turmoil, and the confusion that makes her feel ill, and the fire she feels burning inside her chest, the same one that will perhaps burn her heart.

In the end, Brunhild only knows what she already knew, and she does burn.

It is only when Siegfried and Kriemhild take their leave from the feast - fingers entwined, eyes bound by one hundred invisible threads - and Gunther offers her his hand to help her stand, however, that the fire finally blazes and the flames rage inside her.

And then, Brunhild feels the taste of ashes and disappointment on the tongue.

 

 

 


End file.
